


Safehouse

by orphan_account



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Breastfeeding, Comfort, Lactation Kink, M/M, Male Lactation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 07:37:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7425931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The failed mission meant that they had scattered into different safehouses for the time being, to lie low before returning to regroup at Gibraltar. The troubles pressed on Hanzo's mind: the cargo, possibly lost, his injured teammates, and the threat of being picked off on the journey back. But currently, the most bothersome issue for the archer was the fact that he had not been milked in more than a week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safehouse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Milkcree](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Milkcree).



In the back room of a supposedly-abandoned storage warehouse, Hanzo hissed in pain. He held the cold compress to his chest, trying to calm down his swollen, angry nipples with their engorged ducts spidering out from the puffy areoles. His communicator beeped with a quick text message: Tracer on the move. Two days before, Jesse Mccree had sent out a similar message, that he was on his way back to the base to as well. Hanzo himself would be number five to take flight, after Soldier 76 and Lucio, in about five days. The week couldn’t possibly go fast enough.

 

It had been a risky task from the start, both in locating and fighting for the payload. The failed mission meant that they had scattered into different safehouses for the time being, to lie low before returning to regroup at Gibraltar. The troubles pressed on his mind: the cargo, possibly lost, his injured teammates, and the threat of being picked off on the journey back. But currently, the most bothersome issue for the archer was the fact that he had not been milked in more than a week.

 

His engorged breasts throbbed, the pressure built up to an actually painful level. The ibuprofen in the first aid kit took the sharp edge off the ache, but stopped far from actually relieving any of it. He had tried expressing the milk himself, but only got a frustratingly few drops and an even more inflamed breast for his trouble. Even over an hour, he could not let out enough to make it worth the angry red swelling. Today was no different. Resigned to having to wait out the overfilling, Hanzo paced the small room like a trapped animal, trying to take his mind off his near-exploding chest, before the bounce of his engorged pecs became too painful with each step.

 

Just six more days until he could leave. And then perhaps four days’ travel- he shook his head at the prospect. He sat down on the ratty couch again and reached upwards towards a nipple, trying to remember the feeling of Mccree’s warm, calloused hands massaging him dry. How was it that the damn cowboy— Hanzo let out a grunt as a jolt of pain shuddered through him, arching his back and tensing all his muscles. Better to wait for them to go down on their own, he figured.

 

Suddenly, the security panel near the light switch beeped. Hanzo grabbed his bow, ready to smash the intruder’s head in. The green light was on, which meant that whoever was out there had valid access to the safe house- or they had overridden the security systems in place.

 

Hanzo moved to the side of the hallway doorframe, out of line of fire, as the safe house door slid open. His muscles coiled, tense, ready to strike.

 

“Hey. Hanzo, you in?” a familiar voice called out, and spurs jingled as the cowboy stepped into the hall. Mccree was dusty from the road, his right side covered in a fine layer of gray dust. Peacemaker was drawn and in hand, as a precaution in case it wasn’t the Japanese man hunkered down in the safe house.

 

Eagerness overrode caution, and Hanzo stepped out, putting his bow down. “Mccree,” he barked, and gestured sharply towards the couch.

 

Thankfully, it was indeed just the outlaw. “Evening, babe. Not even a hello?” Mccree teased as the door closed behind him with a click, putting his cigar out on the wall with a slow smirk.

 

“This is not the time for jokes,” Hanzo snapped curtly, the ongoing pain having long sapped any semblance of patience that remained. He shrugged off his loose top and untied his sash, granting the arrived man full access to his engorged pecs. “Help me.”

 

The cowboy chuckled darkly, and followed Hanzo to sit down on the couch next to him, pulling off his glove. “Let’s see what you got.”

 

Hanzo’s breath caught as Mccree ran a finger along his chest to examine the skin dimpled from the swollen ducts beneath it, and and the nipples puffed up like mushroom heads. “Hurry up.”

 

“Jesus. Looks bad,” Mccree said, his voice taking on an edge of concern.

 

“I know,” the older man snapped, sitting down on Jesse’s lap and steadying himself on his hands. “Now assist me.”

 

Mccree pulled the other man’s back flush against his chest, taking a moment to nuzzle the shorter man’s hair. When he was rewarded with an impatient grunt, he reached forward and positioned his fingers around each brown nipple, cupped a handful of pectoral flesh, and pulled forward as he squeezed.

 

Hanzo exhaled loudly as the ache rocked through his upper body, accompanied by a spray of milk trickling from each nipple.

 

“C’mon babe,” Mccree coaxed. “You’re so full, it’s gonna hurt at first. Tough guy like you can take it.”

 

“Arg.” Hanzo gritted his teeth and tried to breathe through it, as Mccree’s hands squeezed and pulled forward, tugging on his already-sore chest. He felt like he were jabbing down hard on a bone bruise, but the promise of relief to come kept his back rigid and his chest pressed firmly into Mccree’s hands.

 

Mccree’s fingers were wet and slick with milk when he stopped, and slid Hanzo off of his lap.

 

“You are not done yet,” the archer protested, embarrassed at how desperate he sounded.

 

Mccree knelt down in front of him, tilting his head. “A working man’s a hungry man,” he said, and leaned in to take a puffy brown nipple into his mouth.

 

Hanzo groaned. The heat of Mccree’s mouth was soothing, but only provided temporary relief for his aching chest. He needed to be emptied, and soon. As if in response to the older man’s thoughts, Mccree’s lips formed a tight seal, and he began to suck greedily, taking more of the firm breast tissue into his mouth. Slowly, as the cowboy worked, the ache and pressure in each breast began to subside, although the soreness in his nipples remained.

 

Mccree settled into a rhythm of lazily suckling Hanzo’s breast, as his free hand continued milking the other. “Glutton,” he teased, but ran a gentle hand through the American man’s hair, working out the tangles and knots as Mccree purred against his nipple, his tongue pressed against the bottom of it. It was the strange moments like this that he allowed himself the luxury of tenderness: nursing Mccree at his breast, watching the other man’s face relax contentedly. A familiar warm feeling came over him. In the fuzzy haze, a longing to hold the cowboy gently and close, to let him suckle until he was drowsy and full, welled up. Hanzo continued stroking Mccree’s hair, bringing his hand down to rub the other man’s shoulders in slow, easy circles.

 

Mccree disengaged with a wet, slurping pop, leaving a mess of saliva and milk over the emptied breast. Hanzo groaned- the relief from the days of pain is almost heavenly to him, and he urges the other man towards the opposite breast.

 

“I’m leaving tomorrow morning,” Mccree stated, resting his cheek and hand against the swollen pec. His eyes were closed, and his lashes cast a soft shadow over his gaunt cheeks. The American smiled sleepily and contentedly, and rubbed his cheek against Hanzo’s chest.

 

“I will see you back at the base, then,” Hanzo replied, a pang in his chest at the thought of parting again so soon. His hand still in Mccree’s hair, he leaned down to nuzzle the other man’s head- an uncharacteristic show of affection for the archer, as he murmured sweet names through closed lips. “Don’t you dare perish on the way.”

 

“And let someone else suck these?” Mccree chuckled, rubbing one of Hanzo’s puffy nipples with a metal finger. “No way in hell. See you back there, Hanzo, and be ready. I’ll be hungry.”


End file.
